


In Season

by hjbender



Series: In Side Out [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Anal Sex, Body Image, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Intersex Loki (Marvel), King Thor (Marvel), Loki Feels, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Open communication is not this family's forte, Oral Sex, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Pre-Thor (2011), Prince Loki (Marvel), Protective Frigga (Marvel), Puberty, Royalty kink, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Loathing, Sexuality Crisis, Sibling Incest, Social Issues, Table Sex, Teen Angst, Thor Feels, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-22 10:03:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13761780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjbender/pseuds/hjbender
Summary: (Chapter 1) Then: Loki's childhood is one of painful secrets, overwhelming shame, and a powerful attraction to his brother, all of which set his life on its destined course.(Chapter 2) Now: Loki is anxious on the long journey to Midgard and does what he can to keep himself entertained, unaware that his troubles are only just beginning.





	1. Then

For much of his young life, Loki had no reason to believe he was different from any other boy. More clever and talented, certainly, but that was the extent of his perceived differences. He grew up happy and privileged and sheltered, a prince of the Golden Realm, ignorant of the powerful secrets his parents were keeping from him.

The blissful tapestry of his life began to unravel the morning he woke up to a patch of blood on his bedsheets, and it would continue to fall steadily apart over the next several centuries before finally ripping asunder the day Frigga died.

She had known from the beginning, of course, that the whimpering babe Odin placed in her arms so long ago was a Jötunn child, but this had not dampened her affection in the slightest; she loved little Loki from the moment he first looked up at her with his dewy eyes and quivering lip, though it wasn’t until she was giving him his first warm bath that she discovered he was indeed unique, blessed with two sexes instead of one. This did not matter to Frigga, but she was concerned—and understandably so—about the difficulties Loki might face once he came of age. For this reason she withheld her knowledge from Odin, believing it would cause unnecessary tension within their newly-expanded family, and to Loki she never mentioned a thing.

Not directly, at least.

The closest she came to telling him the truth was the time she discovered Loki and Thor were skipping their studies to go swimming. Loki was incredibly persuasive, even as a young child, and one of his favorite activities involved urging Thor and a contingent of their shared friends to sneak out of Old Bjarte’s history lesson to go for a swim in the nearby spring. Old Bjarte, as his name implied, was older than darkness and nearly completely blind, so Loki would cast illusions of himself and the other students reading quietly in their lesson books while their real counterparts would be creeping through the halls, giggling and shushing each other, with Loki in the lead. They’d sneak past the sentries and run down the little dirt path to the spring, leaving a trail of cast-off garments as they all tried to outrace one another to the water.

It was a flawless scheme but somehow Old Bjarte found out about it, and Loki and Thor were forced to confess their habitual truancy in front of their frowning parents. Odin had given them equal sentences—Loki for instigating the mischief and Thor for squalling and blaming his brother in a most unprincely manner—but Frigga had taken Loki aside once they were dismissed, kneeling down so she could look her son directly in his eyes.

“You mustn’t swim with your brother or his friends again,” she told him quietly. “Not during lessons, not even on free days. It is neither safe nor appropriate, darling.”

Loki thought it was terribly unfair and began to cry, knowing that his mother hated to see him in such a state. “Not safe? Why? Is swimming really that bad? Is the spring dangerous? Why did no one tell me? It’s not my fault! Why are you punishing me? I didn’t know!”

“Oh, Loki.” Frigga sighed and rearranged her gown so she could sit on the floor beside him. “The spring is safe, and you may swim anytime you like, just not with the other children.”

“But why? It’s boring to swim alone! There’s no one to play with! Thor still gets to swim with the other boys, why not me?”

“Because you are much more special than the other boys, Loki.”

Loki had immediately ceased his sniveling and perked up, just as Frigga predicted he would. Children, she knew, were ridiculously self-centered, and Loki was perhaps the vainest boy she had ever known. Hopefully she would be able to cure him of that before it became a problem.

“There is great magic and power hidden in your body, Loki,” she said to him, “and it must not be shown to any of your friends. If they knew, they might try to take it from you.”

Loki’s eyes widened. He knew very little about sex at this tender age, but he understood magic, and he was fiercely jealous of his abilities—what few he possessed compared to his stronger, larger peers.

He hugged himself defensively, looking troubled. “Have I been showing them my secrets all this time? Have they learnt anything?”

“I don’t believe so.” Frigga gave him a wan smile. “It’s not the end of the world, Loki. You are not forbid from playing in the water. Anytime you want to go swimming, I will take you myself. And I’ll teach you water magic, how does that sound? I know it won’t be as much fun as playing with your friends, but—”

“No, that sounds great!” said Loki with a gap-toothed grin. “Learning magic is more fun than getting splashed in the face by Thor.”

Frigga had laughed, Loki had hugged her neck, mollified, and thus his innocence was preserved for a little while longer.

It was a decision she would regret for many years to come.

* * *

Loki, only just turned thirteen and now entering the stage of his life where the natural aging process began to slow, appeared before Frigga one day with a grim, ashen face and said to her plainly, “Something is wrong with me, Mother. I’ve been bleeding for three days and nothing in the healing room can stop it. I think I’m dying.”

Frigga’s heart promptly shattered. She dropped what she was doing and pulled Loki into her arms, begging his forgiveness.

Alarmed, he asked what for.

“For not telling you sooner,” she said, blinking the tears from her eyes. “For raising a naïve young man who should have been made aware of his wonderful differences. Oh, my dear Loki, I am so sorry.”

Loki was utterly confused and still very frightened, believing his death to be close at hand. Frigga assured him it was not, and dismissed her attendants. She led her son to a more private room, sat him down, and told him the same honest, difficult story that mothers have been telling their daughters since time immemorial.

Loki was devastated. After the initial horror and shame had passed, grief set in, wringing rivers of tears from his already overwhelmed body. Frigga did her best to answer the questions he demanded of her, though hindsight explained a few of them, such as his natural aptitude for magic, a talent long considered to be the dominion of women, and certain aspects of his psychology—his knack for languages, his articulate speech, how he expressed his emotions, his social interactions, the effortless way he moved between both sides of Asgardian society. He was surprised to learn that his unconscious impartiality toward the sexes was making him quite popular with his friends and the general public.

“You’re going to be a wonderful king someday, Loki,” Frigga assured him.

“Maybe I’ll be a queen instead,” he said icily, “then one day I might tell this same lie to my own crying, bleeding son who will never ever be king.”

His words cut her deeply—as he intended—but she was still his mother, and he had never before seen such hurt in her eyes as he did then. His bitterness evaporated and he apologized for being so insolent. Frigga understood his frustration and forgave him, hugged him, and bolstered the resolve she needed to speak her next words:

“You must tell no one of this. Until we find answers to some of your questions, it would be best if this remained a secret between just the two of us.”

“But why? What’s wrong with Father knowing? Or Thor? How am I going to keep this a secret from him? We spend so much time together.”

Frigga tried not to think about it, but a mother’s imagination is most creative when it comes to envisioning the worst scenarios that might befall her children. She wasn’t worried about Thor teasing or antagonizing Loki for his anatomical differences—no, that could be remedied with a little discipline and reprimand; it was the thought that, in a few years’ time, Thor might take a keen interest in those anatomical differences and…

It wasn’t likely, but it was possible, and that was enough for Frigga.

“I’m afraid they wouldn’t understand, darling,” she said. “Perhaps someday you may tell them, but not yet. Not until you yourself have some idea of…”

“Of what I am?” he finished sharply. “Until I discover the curse that’s made me into this freak?”

“You are not a freak, Loki, nor are you cursed. You’re my bright, talented, beautiful son, and we’re going to walk this path together. I love you and I am here for you, darling, no matter what.”

* * *

Whether he believed his mother’s tender words or not, a change came over Loki after that day. His magic began to take on a dark, menacing tone. He spent less time studying the craft with Frigga and instead taught himself, holing up in the dark corners of Asgard’s great library or sneaking out at night to scour the black markets for books of a less wholesome nature. Frightening illusions and mind-altering charms became his favorite tools, and terrorizing the palace waitstaff was an endless source of amusement to him. He cultivated his fluency with words and thus grew to be a master of doublespeak, manipulation, and back-handed compliments. He was a convincing actor and a more convincing liar, fooling even his parents—at least until he was finally caught, sometimes years after the fact.

As far as family was concerned, Loki’s relationship with Thor changed much in the same way his relationship with everyone else had: he distanced himself and built up a protective wall behind which he could hide his shameful bleeding and effeminate characteristics. He watched with envy as his peers broadened with muscle and sprouted whiskers while he himself remained slim and hairless. He did gain some height, and while his voice eventually deepened, it remained smooth and soft, lacking the typical masculine gravel. He was bitterly jealous when he saw how normal and well-liked his brother was becoming, how he was growing into the ideal image of Asgardian manhood: brawny, bearded, handsome, with legions of female admirers and more than a few male admirers. And Loki, to his horror, discovered he was among that number.

At first he didn’t understand it, the heat that would pour up from his neck and turn his face red whenever he and Thor were alone together, the way his heart would stammer and his mouth would go dry, his palms turning into cold, clammy knots. Even worse was the way his beastly, disgusting body would yearn for him, _for his own brother_ , that vile place between his legs weeping and oozing and squelching until he was forced to excuse himself and go change his underclothes. He didn’t have the courage to tell his mother about these embarrassing reactions, and he would rather die than admit they were because of Thor. So he bore them as best as he could, lonely and silently. He tried to educate himself by studying all that was written of female biology, and eavesdropped on conversations between young women as they whispered and giggled to one another.

All it did was confirm what a truly depraved, abominable monster he was.

He decided his best option was to simply avoid Thor at all costs, but Thor had begun to notice Loki’s increasing coldness toward him, and the more Loki tried to evade him, the more Thor sought him out.

“What have I done?” he would ask time and time again, pursuing Loki through the halls of their home. “Have I offended you somehow? If there is a fault for which I’m responsible, if I have wronged you in any way, I would have you tell me so I might correct it! Don’t leave me to suffer in my ignorance!”

One time—the last time it would happen—Loki finally turned to confront him, his eyes blazing with fury. “You think you know suffering, brother? You don’t even know the meaning of the word!”

“Then explain it to me!” Thor cried. “Tell me why you recoil from my very presence! Where do you go when you hide yourself away? Are you hurting, Loki? Is it because of me? Is it something I’ve done?”

Loki tried to resume his stride, but Thor slapped a hand on the wall in front of him, blocking his path. He leaned in close, his face full of anguish.

“We used to spend every minute of every day together,” he said brokenly, “and now I barely know who you are. The only time I see you is at mealtimes, and you never speak to me then. You don’t even look at me. Even now you will not meet my eyes. Loki”—he put his hand beneath Loki’s chin and lifted it until they were staring at one another—“please, whatever it is you’re hiding, whatever it is that’s causing you this pain, _you can tell me_. I can’t promise I’ll understand everything you say, you’re so much more clever than me, but I promise I’ll try. You’re my brother and I love you.”

Loki stood frozen against the wall, his repugnant body already beginning to respond to their closeness.

Thor’s hand left Loki’s chin and slipped around to cradle the back of his neck, a gesture he was fond of using on his lady friends when he spoke to them intimately. Loki was instantaneously paralyzed.

“You’ve changed so much,” Thor said with a smile. “Your hair, your behavior, your magic, everything about you. Even your smell. Oh, no, don’t be embarrassed, it’s not a bad smell. It’s actually quite nice. Me, I stink like a wild goat, but _you_ …”

He trailed off, his thumb beginning to caress the smooth skin of Loki’s neck. His eyes darkened and his smiled faded.

“It’s a sweet smell,” he murmured, “like some kind of lily. A thick, wet scent, but made of flesh instead of grass. You smell of it now. It’s strong and cool and… it’s you…”

Loki knew just what it was that Thor smelled, and even though the thought made his insides churn with dread, the hot, damp feeling between his legs continued to spread.

Thor leaned in close and inhaled the warmth that rose from Loki’s collar. “I’ve missed you, Loki. We used to be so close, you and I. We were inseparable. What happened?”

“We grew up,” said Loki in a hoarse whisper. He could feel the heat radiating from his brother’s face, and knew he was equally aroused. “And we’re growing apart, as we should. It is natural. Just as wolf pups leave their littermates behind to form their own packs.”

“But we aren’t wolves, Loki. We are Aesir.” Thor leaned still closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “We are blood. We are kin. We are inseparable. I don’t ever want to be without you, my brother. You belong to me, and I to you.”

Loki put his hand on Thor’s chest, intending to push him back, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. His body wanted him, his mind, his heart, every fiber of his being longed to press against Thor’s warm, solid weight and feel the part of him that would unite their flesh as one. All he had to do was reach down and touch him, and Loki was certain—absolutely, utterly sure—that Thor would have him, right here and now, in this very hallway. He wondered if Thor was as big as he suspected, if it would hurt when he put it in, if there would be blood, like what some virgin women experienced. He wondered if Thor was a gentle lover or rough and wild, what it would feel like when he spilled inside him, if his body would accept the seed it was given and…

That mortifying thought was enough to jerk Loki back to his rational mind, and before he was even aware of what he was doing, he had drawn the little push dagger from his belt and thrust it between Thor’s ribs.

Thor cried out and staggered back, and Loki fled in terror, his pulse pounding in his ears and the fragrant gush of his vim gliding between his legs with every leap and bound.

“Loki, wait!” Thor called out, but Loki was already gone, dashing through the darkened courtyard, flying up the staircase and down the long corridor to his chambers. He burst through the doors and slammed them shut with a thought, their heavy latches bolting securely without the aid of hands. He stormed toward the bed, but instead of flinging himself upon it, he fell to his knees and scurried beneath it, like he used to do when he was a child.

There, away from the prying, ever-watchful eyes that seemed to surround the kingdom of Asgard, he lay in the darkness and wept for himself, for being such a revolting, reprehensible person. For being cursed with this abnormal body. For lacking the power to control it. For allowing his lust to ruin his relationship with his brother, the only person in the world whose opinion still mattered to him. He sobbed and gagged on his sorrow and moaned the same two words over and over: _why me, why me, why, why me…_

But even his tears weren’t enough to extinguish the flame that had been lit inside him, and when at last he had cried himself out, he slid his breeches down around his thighs and touched himself, surrendering to his fantasies. Safe in this private little world under his bed, he allowed himself to think of Thor. He thought of his brother lying down with him, holding him, caressing him, kissing him, making love to him. He thought of Thor slipping himself into that terrible emptiness that lay between his legs and soothing the ache that clamored there.

It had been a long time since Loki had seen Thor in the nude, certainly before they were adolescents, so the smooth wooden phallus he conjured in his hand was only an approximation. He pushed his breeches down a little farther, until he could open his legs just wide enough, and slowly eased it inside.

He groaned—partly out of relief, mostly out of shame. He was so wet and ready that the only resistance he encountered was the narrowness of his sheath as it stretched around the imitation cock. Soon that too was remedied as he began to work it in and out.

“Brother,” he sighed to the underside of his bed, moving the billet rhythmically back and forth, pressing it ever deeper inside him. “Ah, Thor…”

His flesh smacked and sucked against the polished wood, which became coated with the clear, viscous fluid that issued from his vaginal walls. It dripped down to the base and covered his fingers with its slick, flowery warmth. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, and filled the slow, decadent minutes with his depraved wishes.

It was better this way, hidden safely in shadow where his foulness could be isolated from the rest of civilized society. Here no one knew how sick he was. No one saw the grotesque images parading through his brain, one erotic indulgence after another. No one heard his breathless whimper as he climaxed for the sixth and final time, his finger rubbing rapidly against the little nub that brought him so much pleasure.

No, the world, if indeed it was watching, saw only a disheveled young man crawling out from under his bed, his cheeks flushed and his dark eyes gleaming wetly with remorse.

* * *

In the following years, still long before the Golden Realm would glimpse its last sunrise, Loki discovered that there was a rhythm to his cycles, certain days when his magic became erratic or disappeared altogether—typically just before he bled—and days when he was unstoppable, thrumming with power and energy. There were days when he loved Thor with all his heart and days when the sight of him was enough to set his teeth on edge, where if Thor so much as laid a careless hand on his shoulder it would come away with a blade embedded in it.

It was more than just hormones. It was his body’s way of reminding him when it was best to conceive, but that was far less disturbing a matter than the development he’d noticed in Thor’s own physiology.

His brother was astonishingly, supernaturally fertile.

Even before he had fully grasped the concepts of reproduction, Thor’s powers of potency had been noticed by their parents. Life seemed to spring from the very ground upon which he trod; patches of earth that had been barren and wasted since the beginning of time grew green and lush. He could purify the stalest, most stagnant water and render it drinkable. His touch alleviated pains, poisons and aches more effectively than any potion. The weak and orphaned animals he brought home quickly regained their strength and grew into healthy, flourishing adults. Loki remembered spying on the private meetings held between their parents and many sad, childless couples. He would watch from the shadows as Frigga gently bade Thor place his hands upon the unfortunate pair and bestow them a blessing of fruitfulness. That blessing was always fulfilled, if the numerous joyful messages that came weeks later were not evidence enough.

And many years later here they were, two young Aesir, one bearing a terrible secret that, ironically, happened to be the other’s field of expertise.

Loki spent many long, solitary hours of the night wondering if Thor was the reason he had begun to bleed, if he had in fact been sterile at birth like some of the chimeras he read about, and his brother’s presence had spontaneously sparked his womb into production. If that were true, then Thor was also responsible for the unwholesome, incestuous urges that had possessed Loki’s entire being, and if _that_ were the case…

…then none of this was Loki’s fault. It was Thor’s. The anguish, the humiliation, the cramps, the bleeding, this hideous, defective anatomy that made Loki want to curse his parents and die, it was _all Thor’s fault._

Before that dreadful day when he finally learned who his real sire was, this was the truth that had set Loki free. He was no longer responsible for anything negative or unpleasant that happened in his life. He could blame it all on Thor.

And he did.

The alienation of all his childhood friends, and his subsequent loneliness and despair: Thor’s fault. His physical inability to grow stronger and more masculine: Thor’s fault. His increasing resentment toward Odin and the rift that opened up between him and his mother: Thor’s fault. His desperate longing for equality. His descent into greed and madness. His fall into oblivion. His feverish ambition. His failure as both conqueror and king. His villainy. His imprisonment. His mother’s death. His rage. His last great act of deception. The love that lay like a deeply-buried relic in the loamy black soils of his heart.

All of it was Thor’s fault. Unquestionably. Irrevocably.

And several hundred years later, when Loki’s greatest fear finally became a reality aboard a spacecraft bearing the last of Asgard’s tattered remains, he would blame Thor for that, too.


	2. Now

Loki heaves a sigh, only vaguely listening to his brother’s words.

Thor continues his discourse on the current situation, drawing supplementary illustrations on the meeting room’s floor-to-ceiling window with a thick white marker. The empty black of outer space is a perfect background.

“And since this dying star lies directly in our path, we must make yet another course change. Banner knows much of these matters and has suggested a new route through _this_ star system”—the marker squeaks on the glass as Thor makes a line from a crudely-drawn spacecraft to someplace far off to the right—“where there are fewer cosmic disturbances. Heimdall has looked ahead and confirmed there is safe passage.”

Heimdall, sitting at the broad, sleek conference table, gives a slight nod of his head. Loki shifts in his chair and continues to pull leaves of paper from the small pad in front of him, folding each sheet into a new shape. No magic is necessary for this task; his hands are talented enough. A menagerie of his work lies scattered on the table, testament to his utter disinterest in the mandatory weekly assembly.

“It will unfortunately mean a longer voyage,” Thor goes on, “but the preservation of Asgard is our highest priority. Korg has made a thorough inventory of our provisions and determined that they are sufficient enough to carry us through several seasons, and the power cells are…”

With a mischievous grin, Loki picks up his latest work—a very geometric-looking representation of male anatomy—and lobs it into the Valkyrie’s hair with a flick of his fingers. She jerks in surprise and begins to paw at her tresses while Loki pretends to be deeply fascinated by what Thor has to say.

“…therefore I see no reason to risk Asgard’s safety as we are so well-equipped.”

The paper genitals are discovered and thrown back to their smirking owner.

“Banner has suggested we increase the vessel’s speed to shorten our time spent on this detour—Loki, leave her alone or I’ll move you to the head of the table—however, we would be forced to reroute power from auxiliary sources in order to supply the engines…”

The Valkyrie gives Loki a smug look. He responds with a leer and a rude gesture. Heimdall turns in his seat and glares at them both with his stern golden eyes until they both sober up. Across from Heimdall, Bruce Banner—small, nervous, and wearing a bizarre mishmash of Sakaarian and Asgardian clothing—is scribbling in a notebook while Korg, sitting on the floor as he has yet to find a chair on the ship strong enough to accommodate his tonnage, takes a nap. Miek lies snoring in his lap.

They’re a ragtag, mismatched bunch—outcasts and outlaws, faithful friends and new allies—certainly the most unusual retinue held by any king in Asgard’s history, but somehow they are making it work. No one has yet died as a result of their mismanagement, so they count that as a fortuitous sign as they continue to make their way into an uncertain future. The current passenger population, written on the left side of the window in large digits, stands at 1,995. The last numeral has been recently changed; one of the passengers gave birth to twins yesterday, the first piece of truly good news they’ve received since the beginning of this unexpected voyage. Heimdall had been very pleased to deliver the message, as well as the infants themselves.

Loki, on the contrary, has no interest in the lives of the common people. They’re a dull lot, occupied by small—if any—ambitions, content with living unexciting, predictable lives. But Thor loves them dearly, so Loki keeps his disparaging remarks on their meaningless existences to himself.

After another tedious half-hour of talking, during which the Valkyrie gave a positive report on the ship’s newly-enhanced defense system and Dr Banner smiled and stammered about the sound health of all the passengers, the meeting comes to a close and everyone is dismissed. Loki is the first to stand up from his seat, but he is halted en route to the door by Thor’s hand dropping heavily onto his shoulder.

“Not you. We have a serious matter to discuss.”

The Valkyrie glances at Loki with an expression that clearly says _ooh someone’s in trouble_ before strolling from the room with exaggerated nonchalance.

Once they are alone, Thor presses a button on the control pad, which shuts the door and activates the lock. He turns to Loki, who has his arms crossed at his waist and a wisp of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Serious matter, eh? Let me guess. I’m not doing enough to help our people, is that it?”

“I’m not even sure what you are doing on this ship, Loki. Your sleeping quarters are abandoned, you seldom join us for meals, and even Heimdall cannot see where you are half the time. Why do you hide from us?”

Loki clasps his hands behind his back and shrugs. “I covet my privacy. You of all people should know that.”

“This is not privacy, Loki. This is avoidance.”

“I prefer the term ‘aloof’.”

“It is dangerous and foolish.” Thor takes a step toward him, a note of genuine concern in his voice. “If something were to happen to you and you needed help, no one would know where to find you. Do you have any idea how long it would take to search this vessel?”

“Six days.”

Thor raises his eyebrows.

“Or approximately a hundred hours, depending upon how motivated you are.”

“You’ve surveyed the entire craft?”

“Of course. It was one of the first things I did after we fled the realm.” Loki begins to saunter toward the window, and Thor falls in step beside him. “Don’t you know anything about infiltration, brother? Learn your environment, locate resources, seek out information. You’re very lucky to have my talents at your disposal. I am an indispensable asset.”

“Indeed. Especially when it comes to hiding things.”

Loki feigns confusion. “Hiding things?”

Thor rolls his eye. “I’m not an idiot, Loki. I know you have it.”

“Have what?”

“You know what.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Loki…”

“Ohh, you mean _that_ thing,” says Loki clandestinely. “No, can’t say that I do. The last place I saw it was down in the vault, when I was fetching the crown of Surtur. I suppose it’s lost now. I _do_ wish I had thought to grab it.” He sighs and shakes his head. “We could certainly use it now, couldn’t we? Be in Midgard in minutes instead of months.”

“And bring ourselves to the attention of every malevolent force in the universe the moment we use it.”

The playful lilt of their conversation disappears and silence falls between them. They stare through the wide window out into the vast darkness that lies between them and their destination; a celestial sea teeming with monsters and never-ending peril, their tiny craft bearing the last survivors of their civilization. After some time, Thor finally speaks.

“This isn’t about the Tesseract, Loki. This is about you. This is about your future. Our kingdom.”

“ _Your_ kingdom,” Loki corrects. “I am but a cog in the wheel.”

“You are a member of my court. You are my advisor, my right hand, the director of our people’s destiny.”

“Am I really all that? My, my. I’ve been desperately underselling myself, it seems. I should rewrite my résumé immediately.”

“There you go, jesting again. Is this some kind of game to you?”

“You know it isn’t.”

“Then why do you make light of our situation?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Loki steps up to the window and throws his arms open. “We are cosmic vagabonds! Helplessly exposed! Our cargo is precious and irreplaceable, we are completely vulnerable to attack, and I am returning to a realm, possibly permanently, whose people aren’t exactly going to be thrilled to see me. The food is awful, the ship is crowded, and I have gone to great measures to secure a quiet little niche for myself where I can maintain both my sanity and the will to live. And now I learn that we’re going to be adding another few months onto what is already an insufferably long voyage, and the _one thing_ that could solve all our problems might also be our doom.” He shakes his head. “If I don’t find some way to laugh at all this, I may as well just end it now, and you know how much suicide annoys me.”

Thor stares wordlessly at Loki’s back for several moments. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and gentle. “I had no idea this was taking such a toll on you.”

Loki rolls his eyes—which Thor sees only because of the window’s reflection—and crosses his arms. “It is affecting me no worse than anyone else on this ship. I simply have a different way of dealing with miserable circumstances.”

Thor steps up and places his hands on Loki’s shoulders, squeezing them supportively. “Take heart, brother. It won’t always be thus.”

“I am fully aware of that. It’s just… finding some way to survive in the meanwhile.”

Thor exhales softly and slides his arms around Loki’s waist, holding him securely. Loki, who typically sneers at offerings of comfort, even from those he loves, leans into the embrace and stares out at the stars. Today, it seems, he doesn’t mind being comforted at all.

“One day soon we’re going to get off this ship,” Thor murmurs after a brief silence, “and make a new home for ourselves. A new Asgard, led by you and me, Loki. And it’s going to be a thousand times better than the old one, for that very reason.”

An anemic smile turns Loki’s mouth into a thin curve. “You’re very hopeful, aren’t you?”

“I am cautiously optimistic. We have reached the bottom of the abyss and survived. There is no place for us to go but up.”

“It can always get worse, brother.”

“It can always get better, too.”

Loki is silent.

Thor brushes Loki’s long black hair to one side and presses a slow, warm kiss to his neck. “Whatever lies on the path ahead of us, we shall overcome it together. I am here for you, Loki. I love you.”

Something small and pointed pricks Loki’s heart. He frowns, trying to place those familiar-sounding words in the long centuries of his life. The images blur in his head as he reaches back far, farther, farther still, until he is an adolescent boy striving to be as good as the brother he both envies and admires, a boy with a terrible secret that no one can—

_You’re my bright, talented, beautiful son, and we’re going to walk this path together. I love you and I am here for you, darling, no matter what._

Mother.

Loki sees her. Smiling and lovely and radiating maternal care. He feels her slim, steady arms around him, hears the rustle of her brocaded skirts. He smells her hair, flowers and fragrant herbs from her garden, and remembers her holding his head to her soft, warm breast and stroking his hair, soothing the strife of his vernal years.

Only she hadn’t. Not all of it. She did her best, Loki will give her that much, and perhaps he is partly to blame for the distance that developed between them, but the truth of the matter remains: the words he most needed to hear from Frigga had not come from her, but from Thor. From his stupid, clumsy, big-hearted brother, the object of his lust and the unwitting author of all his torment.

 _Please, whatever it is you’re hiding, whatever it is that’s causing you this pain,_ you can tell me _. I can’t promise I’ll understand everything you say, you’re so much more clever than me, but I promise I’ll try. You’re my brother and I love you._

Hot tears well in Loki’s eyes and a knot forms in his throat. “I love you, too,” he croaks.

Thor straightens suddenly and turns him around, alarmed by what he sees. “Oh, Loki. You’re crying. What have I—did I say something wrong? Have I hurt you somehow?”

This is beginning to sound eerily familiar.

Loki bows his head and shakes it. “No. No, it’s alright,” he sniffs. “I’m. It’s only…”

“Loki.” Thor lifts his brother’s chin until their eyes meet, warm, affectionate blue to cool, secretive green. “You don’t have to suffer in silence. You can talk to me. Please, brother.”

Loki blinks, and suddenly a much younger-looking Thor is standing in front of him, his hair barely reaching his shoulders, his beard thin and juvenile. He is scarcely a man, but his face wears the same look of anguish Loki so clearly remembers from that terrible evening in the hallway. It’s a memory he has tried desperately to bury, full of shame and remorse and suffocating feelings of self-loathing and desire. He remembers Thor’s pain-stricken voice calling to him as he ran away. He remembers crying beneath his bed like a pitiful child. He remembers the wooden phallus he used to pleasure himself, and the fiery, despicable fantasies he entertained while he did it.

“Loki?”

The reverie vanishes. Thor as he knows him is back: full beard, shorn hair that is gradually growing out, missing eye hidden by a patch of leather and metal. Careworn lines are beginning to show on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. He is older and tougher now, scarred by experience and whittled by hardship, but somehow all this damage has made him more attractive to Loki than the flawless golden youth he used to be.

Loki opens his mouth and takes a breath to say… what, exactly, he doesn’t know. Anything but the truth that beats against the walls of his heart, crying to be freed.

Thor is gazing at him expectantly, perhaps hoping for an answer to the questions he’s been asking for centuries. He is unprepared when, instead of speaking, Loki slips his hand around the back of his neck and pulls him forward. Their lips meet and Loki is pressing hard against him, leaving no space from knee to neck.

Thor slides his thick arms around Loki’s waist and squeezes him, one hand wandering down to grasp a handful of buttock. Loki responds by grinding himself into Thor, trying to waken him. He breaks the kiss and mutters, “I want you to fuck me.”

Thor’s eyebrows spring up. “Wha— _now_?”

“Yes, now. Right here.”

“Loki, this isn’t the time or place to be making ridicu—”

“I’m not joking this time. Please, brother, I need this.” Loki lays his hand on Thor’s chest and gazes up at him with eyes that not even a heartless tyrant could refuse. “My season isn’t over yet, but I can’t wait any longer. I want you. I need… need your reassurance. Please.”

It’s only partially lies, but his performance is so flawless that it’s impossible to tell which bits are true and which are false. It affects Thor all the same, just as Loki intended, trapping him in a state somewhere between concerned and aroused. The former, however, proves to be the stronger of the two.

“But this isn’t a safe time for you,” he murmurs. “You might conceive if we were to—”

“I am more than just a womb, Thor. There are other parts of me capable of being pleased.”

A blank look crosses Thor’s face. “Oh. Yes. I—”

“Forgot, I know, the male mind is terribly limited, now are you going to bend me over that table or must I do everything myself?”

“That’s something I’d like to see.”

One side of Loki’s mouth curls upward. “Some other time. Right now I need you to kneel.”

Thor grins broadly. “As his highness commands.”

He keeps his eye on Loki’s face as he slowly lowers himself to his knees, still managing to look regal despite his humble position. He grasps Loki’s thighs, kneading them through his leather breeches, and reaches under the hem of Loki’s jerkin to grab his rear—with both hands this time. Loki shuffles closer, nudging his hips forward. Thor gets the hint and presses his face to Loki’s crotch, nosing at his growing erection. He opens his mouth and breathes hot air against the material separating them, and cups Loki’s bulge in his hand.

Loki traces his tongue along the edge of his teeth as he watches his brother nuzzle him. He combs his fingers through Thor’s hair for a few moments, knowing how much he enjoys that, before reaching down and unfastening his breeches just enough to pull himself out.

Thor doesn’t hesitate; he opens wide and swallows him whole.

Loki lifts his fluttering eyes toward the ceiling. “Oh, yes,” he whispers, digging his fingers into Thor’s scalp. “Take me, brother.”

He is still a little soft, but after a minute in the slippery, silky heat of Thor’s mouth, he’s fully erect and on his way to a brilliant climax.

Thor closes his eyes and puts every ounce of energy into pleasing Loki, stroking the length of him with his tongue, teasing the tip of his penis, suckling it, pursing his lips around it, scraping it lightly with his teeth. He fondles Loki’s balls, caressing the wrinkly velvet skin with his fingertips, grasping them at their root and pulling them down, then pushing upward in time with his sucking.

It isn’t long before Loki is a flushed, gasping, wall-eyed disaster—an incredible feat considering how unaroused he was to begin with. Thor has pleasured him orally many times in the last few months, but holy bleeding gods, never like this.

“Y-you’ve been holding out on me,” Loki pants, “you bastard.”

Thor releases Loki with a hum and a slurp. “I try not to show off all my talents at once. I’ve got to keep you interested in me somehow.”

A single huff of laughter escapes Loki’s throat. “You’re becoming quite the trickster, brother.”

“I learned from the best.”

Without warning, Thor grabs the waist of Loki’s breeches and yanks them down. He buries his face between Loki’s thighs and mouths his scrotum.

Loki’s eyes fly open, every muscle in his body going rigid. “Oh. Oh my, Thor, please be gentle, that’s a very… extremely delicate pla… ha, ah…”

His nervousness melts away as Thor carefully nurses him, tongue pushing and swirling around first one cod and then the other, as if sampling a delicate morsel. All the while his spit-slick fist is wrapped around Loki’s cock, pumping him slowly.

Loki’s mouth is hanging open in a permanent “O”; he closes his eyes and buries his fingers in Thor’s golden-brown hair. Thor’s hot cheeks and bristly beard scrape against his sensitive skin, the contrasting temperatures and textures only adding to his excitement.

When Loki’s thighs begin to tremble, Thor pries them apart with his shoulder and forces him backward. Loki thumps into the window and Thor follows him every inch of the way, never missing a beat. His hand and mouth swap places with a moist smack, and now he’s deep-throating Loki’s cock, his nose buried in the patch of soft, dark hair between Loki’s legs. One hand coddles Loki’s balls while the other creeps between his thighs.

Loki makes a startled noise when he feels Thor’s fingers wriggle between his labia and squirm their way into his cunt, and suddenly he’s unraveling. His fingers tighten in Thor’s hair and almost lift it from his scalp. His face twists in a silent scream and he gasps as he comes, spending himself down his brother’s throat—one long spurt, followed by two shorter bursts. Thor swallows it all; Loki can feel the muscles of his throat contract when he does, the sensation of that wet, narrow channel tightening on his oversensitive glans almost too much for him to bear. An undignified whine escapes him, which makes Thor smile.

“Good?” he asks, his eye sparkling and his lips gleaming wetly.

Loki, who is slumped upright against the window and staring vaguely at the ceiling, thinks it’s probably the best head he’s ever received—but it wouldn’t do to inflate Thor’s ego unnecessarily, so he opts for a winded, emphatic “ _Very_ ,” and that seems to be enough.

Thor stands with a groan and rolls his shoulders, stretches his legs. “Ugh, all that kneeling made me stiff.”

Loki’s eyes drift down to the massive peak in Thor’s trousers. “Indeed it has. I suppose kneeling doesn’t suit you after all, brother.”

“No,” Thor chuckles, “but it certainly suits you.”

He leans in for a kiss, intending it to be quick and sweet, but Loki takes Thor’s head in both hands and pulls him deeper, thrusting his tongue between his lips seeking out any lingering taste of himself in his mouth. Thor settles closer and plants his boots into the carpet, rocking against the bare skin of Loki’s lower belly.

“Still want to take me?” he whispers.

“Of course.”

“ _Can_ you take me?”

The leer that comes to Loki’s face is all teeth. “With enough preparation I can take anything.”

A pleased growl rumbles deep in Thor’s throat. “Hmm. My brother, the slut.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry.”

“I find that word very offensive.”

“I didn’t mean it, I beg your pardon,” says Thor soberly.

“You should. I am _adopted_.”

Thor blinks at him, sighs, and shakes his head. Loki gives him a long, winsome smirk before reaching down and fingering Thor’s leather-locked erection. He watches Thor’s eye darken and his expression go neutral as his humor vanishes.

Thor places his hands on the window on either side of Loki’s head and leans forward, capturing him in another kiss and pinning him in place with his hips. Loki’s nimble hands work quickly to unfasten the front of Thor’s breeches. He springs free, long and red and swollen, and Loki caresses him with his slim, cool fingers. Thor breaks the kiss with a low groan and starts pulling at the rest of Loki’s clothes. Loki helps him, even manages to send one of his boots flying as he kicks it off, but his open shirt is still hanging off his shoulders when Thor ducks down and grabs him by the back of both knees.

He rises and Loki rises with him, his arms shooting out to wrap around Thor’s neck lest he topple backward. Thor turns and carries him over to the table, then sets him down on its edge. Loki makes a startled “Yeek!” as his bare bottom touches the cold surface, but he quickly forgets it when Thor pushes his knees apart and forces him onto his back.

The table is hard and Loki feels terribly exposed in this huge, empty room, but the vulnerable atmosphere only excites him further. His softened penis continues to ooze, leaving shiny smears on his lower belly. Thor bends down and laps them up; his tongue is hot and tickles madly, and Loki has to bite his lip to keep from squealing.

The urge to laugh disintegrates, however, when Thor’s licking turns to deep, slow, sensual kisses. He takes Loki’s hips in his hands and squeezes the spare flesh there, tilting his head and sucking at the tender skin just below his navel.

“I love every part of you,” he says, his voice so low and throaty that it almost sounds like the snarl of a huge beast. “But right now, I think this is my favorite place.” He lays down another kiss, his tongue arriving before his lips, then lifting with a quiet _smooch_.

Loki props himself up and gazes down the length of his naked torso as Thor continues to adorn his belly—that tender area where his womb lies—with kisses. It’s a sight that calls up equal amounts of excitement, anxiety, and sizzling lust. The other half of his anatomy comes awake with a vengeance and begins to ready itself for the act.

 _No_ , he thinks firmly. _Not now. Stop it._

The orders are promptly returned to sender.

Loki’s head lolls back as the pleasure continues to blossom from his cunt and spread into his stomach, his thighs, his breasts. He can feel himself becoming wet, his neglected sheath oozing for attention.

But not today.

“Enough,” he grunts. “Suck me.” And Thor leaves off the kissing to do as he is bidden.

That seems to quiet the hollow ache in his nethers. For the moment. Loki closes his eyes and focuses on his cock, rapidly thickening in Thor’s mouth. Yes. Much better. _This_ is what he wants right now; that baby-craving cavern in his belly can just go to hell.

Without lifting his head, Thor slips his hands under Loki’s knees and lifts his legs, spreading them even wider and forcing Loki to perch his feet on the edge of the table. He feels dizzily, gloriously exposed, the air cooling all of his warm, private places. He’s already imagining the feeling of Thor’s fingers screwing into him and opening him up, slick and—

Oh, yes. Lubrication. They’re going to need that.

Loki stretches open his hand and a flash of bright green light traces the outline of a small ampule—before un-tracing itself and disappearing. Loki frowns and shakes his hand, tries again. The vessel reappears briefly, flickers, then vanishes. He tries again. And again.

Distracted by the repeated glimmering, Thor stops what he’s doing and raises his head. “Everything alright?”

“Yes.” Loki practically cringes at the nervous edge in his voice. “Um. I’m having a bit of an off day. It’s fine, just give me a moment.”

He shuts his eyes and concentrates hard, visualizing the item as if he were a 10-year-old beginner instead of a centuries-long practitioner of the art. He wonders if perhaps his cycle is about to begin. Dear mercy, that would be a relief; his season had been worryingly brief and uneventful—maybe it was all the Sakaarian liquor he’d been drinking lately—and his blood was already a week overdue. If he were to start right now he wouldn’t even be annoyed, that’s how concerned he’s been.

But Thor, of course, has no idea about any of this. “Loki? Are you sure you’re—”

“Shush! I need to focus.”

“Sorry.”

“Shh.”

Deep creases form in Loki’s brow. His nose wrinkles as he grimaces and grits his teeth. Green sparks spit and sputter in his trembling hand again and again, flaring up and dying down, until finally he snarls and gives up. He collapses onto the table, breathing heavily and glaring up at the ceiling with murder in his eyes.

Timidly, Thor speaks up: “What were you trying to do?”

“Nothing, just”—a short, irritated sigh—“summon a few necessities. Oil, in particular. I don’t suppose you have any?”

“No. But we can improvise.”

“Improvising is for people who don’t know how to plan.”

“We’ll get by.”

“With what, exactly?”

Thor answers by slipping two fingers into Loki’s vagina and stroking him. “There’s a pretty good supply of it here.”

Loki lurches up on one elbow and almost slaps his brother across the face. He _wants_ to, but he collects his senses at the last moment and ends up grabbing him by the collar instead, the knuckles of his fist white and bloodless. “We are _not_ doing that.”

“I know.” Thor removes his fingers and rubs them down the length of his formidable-looking erection, spreading what he’s gathered. Loki watches him, the fury draining out of his face.

“If you stick that thing in me I’m going to stab”—his breath hitches as the fingers push back into him, three this time—“s-stab you in the last eye you’ve got.”

“Oh, I’m definitely sticking my thing in you, Loki,” says Thor slyly. “Just not here.”

He continues to massage Loki’s smooth, spongy walls while his thumb begins to search the folds of his labia. A sharp intake of breath tells him that he’s found what he’s looking for.

“Relax,” he murmurs kindly, beginning to rub circles around Loki’s clitoris. “You are safe with me. I would never hurt you, I swear.”

Loki’s eyelids droop as Thor’s fingers spread inside him and his thumb continues its lightweight caresses. “I believe you,” he says, for once speaking the truth.

Thor gives him a fond look as he grasps Loki’s inner thigh with his free hand and squeezes the flesh appreciatively. “I’ll need all that you can give me.”

“That depends upon your abilities, not mine.”

“I will do my best then.”

And, by the gods, he _does_.

Thor leans over him and begins kissing his neck, working his way down to the base of Loki’s throat, his muscular arm trapped between their bodies and slowly bringing Loki closer and closer to climax. Fluid leaks down the cleft between Loki’s buttocks and smears on the table beneath him. Thor’s hand loses both its precision and accuracy in the hot, slippery mess, and he compensates by making a fist and rubbing his knuckles back and forth across the wet folds, twisting and turning, eliciting shudders and gasps. He angles his fingers into a wedge shape and buries them into Loki as deeply as possible. The squishy, sucking noises this produces are absolutely vulgar.

But it’s when Thor latches onto Loki’s nipple and bites it that Loki truly comes undone.

“Ahhh, Thor _Thorrrr_!” he wails, his hips bucking and his arms reflexively wrapping around Thor’s head, holding him tightly against his chest. “Want! Want you in. Inside. Hahhh, _fuck_ …!”

Thor doesn’t wait for Loki to recover. Judging from the deep shade of red on his face and the lack of blue remaining in his eye, he is thoroughly ready to start indulging his own desires. He takes his drenched, glistening hand and spreads Loki’s juices onto himself, then locates the tight pucker that is his intended target. He rubs the slippery fluid all around Loki’s trembling, eager hole before sticking the tip of his finger inside.

Loki’s eyes pop open and his erection, which has wilted slightly, begins to awaken again. “Oh, please, slow. Slowly. I’m not, it’s too—”

“I won’t hurt you. Not if I can help it.”

Thor swipes his free hand across Loki’s sopping cunt and then grasps Loki’s cock, beginning to stroke it. Loki lays his hand on top of Thor’s and stares at him through half-lidded eyes. “I have wanted this,” he utters, “since I was young and still believed you were my brother.”

“I am still your brother, Loki. I shall always be your brother.”

A shiver courses through Loki’s body, making his hair rise and his nipples harden into tight, pebbly nubs.

There is something terribly wrong with both of them, he thinks.

Thor inserts another finger into Loki’s hole and begins a rhythm that matches the stroking of his other hand. He feels the tight ring of muscle relax and he pushes in a little farther, seeking out Loki’s pleasure spot. Loki continues to loosen; little smacks and squicks accompany Thor’s ministrations, and soon he is adding a third finger.

“Put it in,” Loki pants. “Please, just. Just get on with it.”

“It may hurt.”

“It always hurts at first.”

“Are you certain?”

“Thor, damn your eye, I’m going to ki—”

“Alright, just give me a moment.”

Thor is shaking, nearly delirious with arousal. He’s had an erection for close to thirty minutes and is now beginning to feel a little frayed around the edges. He paints one last coat of Loki’s slick onto himself before lining up. He guides the tip in slowly and watches Loki’s face for any signs of pain. There is only a twinge of what looks like discomfort, and then the spongy bulb of his cockhead is completely swallowed. Loki clenches around him briefly before relaxing again. Thor braces his hands on the table, angles his body, and slowly pushes the rest of the way in.

The alternate lubrication seems to do the trick; he glides smoothly into Loki’s warm, trembling sleeve, opening up his flesh and filling him inch by inch.

Loki closes his eyes and reaches down between his legs to frame his brother’s cock as it enters him. “Oh, Thor. My. You are. Simply… enormous.”

“I will try to be gentle.”

“Not too gentle.”

Thor smiles and pins Loki’s wrists to the table. “I will be as gentle as you command me to be.” To illustrate, he pulls almost all the way out and slides back in, slow and smooth and poised, a perfect gentleman.

Loki laughs, his teeth sharp and white. “Then I command you to stop treating me like a delicate flower and _just fucking take me_.”

“Is that what the prince desires?”

A wave of gratification ripples through Loki at the use of his title. He stares up at Thor’s face, and he’s speaking the words before he even realizes it: “Yes, your majesty.”

Thor smiles down at him before he leans back and takes Loki by the thighs. He yanks him closer to the edge of the table, until his bottom is hanging slightly over it, and then begins to hammer him.

Loki’s eyes roll as the head of Thor’s cock stabs into his prostate before sliding deeper, then brushes it again on the way out. “Oh yes,” he gasps, “keep doing that.”

Thor sets his jaw and begins driving back and forth into Loki’s heat. Loki’s back squeaks on the table’s surface with each thrust, and he takes hold of the edge to keep from sliding. It’s the perfect height, allowing Thor to stand and deliver while Loki lies flat, his legs bent at the knee and held wide open to receive.

“More,” he demands, his voice catching from the force of the thrusts. Thor grins, leaning forward and slapping his pelvis against Loki’s bottom.

Loki closes his eyes as he feels Thor fill him, thick and full, shoving in fast and dragging out slowly, again and again. The angle is perfect. Every stroke in and out strikes Loki’s sweet spot and fills him with ravenous lust.

“Hands,” he begs breathlessly. “Need your hands!”

Thor obediently gives him the requested appendages, and Loki claps them to his breasts, craning his neck back and wrapping his legs around Thor’s waist.

“Oh, yes, squeeze. Harder— _ow, not that hard!_ —yes, like that, right there…”

Thor smiles and massages his brother’s sensitive flesh, rolling his nipples between his fingers, never ceasing his rhythm. “I think we are made for each other, Loki,” he pants. “You for me, and I for you. We belong together.”

“Yes,” Loki moans, not really listening. He’s too busy concentrating on the wonderful feelings flowing through his body.

Thor pulls back to admire the view: his brother spread on the table before him, the dark pink crease of his pussy still oozing enough fluid to grease his cock as it pumps in and out. His shaft is red and glossy, and Loki’s hole is stretched wide around it like a small, greedy mouth. Thor reaches down and grasps Loki’s erection, working it in time with his own thrusts. He squeezes it, his fist moving hard and fast, smacking into Loki’s balls with every downward stroke. Loki stares up at him, desperately disheveled, and makes helpless little mews every time Thor rams into him.

That pleases Thor, seeing Loki so undone. He asks sweetly, “Is there anything more I can do?”

“Oh yes, _yes_!” Loki shrieks as Thor’s member, which has been drilling into his gland for the last five minutes, finally pushes him over the edge. His back bows and he howls as he comes, digging his heels into Thor’s buttocks and grinding himself into his hips.

Thor is spurred into action. He plows hard into Loki’s shuddering channel, his tight, tensing rim sending bolts of pleasure through every inch of his cock each time he enters and withdraws. His balls seem to tense and thicken, drawing up in preparation for his release.

“Ah, Loki,” he groans roughly and helplessly. The tension massing in his loins bursts free, and he seizes Loki at the juncture of his hips and thighs, slams in once, twice, then clenches up and rams himself in as far as he can go, roaring like a legion of charging warriors.

“Oh my, oh Thor, _brother_ , yes!” Loki screams. He feels Thor pulsing inside him, filling him up, and his spent cock jumps one last time, adding a few more drops to the thick, gloppy lines already cooling on his belly.

The moments of gritted teeth and steeled muscles fade rapidly in the aftermath of their raucous union, and Loki lies gasping on the table, arms and legs akimbo. Thor stands above him, sweat gleaming on his neck, his face as red as the fires of Muspelheim.

Once he’s caught his breath, Loki utters, “Fuck.”

“Yes, we did,” Thor grins, still a little breathless.

“I’m going to be sore for weeks.”

“Maybe by then your season will be over and we can…” Thor finishes his sentence by wagging his eyebrows.

“Unless you enjoy bloodsports, brother, I would advise against sexual intimacy during that time.”

The wagging immediately stops. “But I thought… Wait, _how_ does your cycle work again?”

Loki sits up with a sigh and makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. Thor understands and obediently, carefully pulls out. Loki sighs again, this time with relief, and flips his hair back over his shoulder.

“I bleed for nearly three weeks. That is the start of my cycle.”

Thor’s mouth falls open. He looks simultaneously stunned and horrified. “Yikes.”

“Indeed. After that I enjoy about forty days before my peak arrives. That’s when I’m most…” His face tightens uncomfortably.

“When you can get pregnant,” Thor finishes, sounding pleased to be part of this conversation.

“Yes, that,” Loki mutters. He slides off the table and begins to hunt for his clothes. Thor helps him, not even bothering to tuck himself back in.

“My season typically lasts a fortnight,” Loki continues, trying to ignore the slippery feeling of Thor’s seed leaking between his thighs. “And after that I’ve another forty days or so, and then the whole vicious cycle begins again.”

Thor hands Loki his left boot. “And this happens three times a year.”

“Yes.”

“So one cycle is about four months long.”

“Approximately, yes.”

Thor grins like a giddy boy. It baffles Loki completely.

“That is so cool,” he says, using one of the many Midgardian phrases he’s picked up in the last few years. “Your body and everything. It’s so complex and mysterious and wonderful. It’s miraculous, really. You are a miracle of nature, Loki.”

Loki stares at Thor like he has just sprouted horns. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or thank him, because that’s honestly the kindest thing that’s ever been said to him. His first instinct, naturally, is to respond with a sarcastic, thinly-veiled insult, and his mouth opens to do just that, but the words never form. They can’t. Not with Thor standing before him like this, so supportive and loving and happy. He is genuinely excited and amazed by Loki’s unusual anatomy—the same anatomy Loki has spent his life cursing and hiding and using for his own shameless gain. Who is he to rob Thor of the joy that he himself never had?

Deciding that perhaps it’s better to just ignore the comment altogether, Loki leans against the table and begins to turn his shirt right side out again. Thor approaches and drops a warm kiss onto his shoulder while it’s still uncovered.

“You look tired,” he observes. “You can use the bath in my quarters if you want. It’s got that big tub you like so much.”

Loki smiles thinly. “Then I suppose you’ll want to join me.”

“Of course.”

“And then you’ll become aroused, and then I’ll end up with your cock in my ass again, and then neither of us will get clean.”

“Exactly. See, it’s a great plan.”

“Well, as great as that plan sounds”—and it _does_ sound great to Loki, at least the bath part—“I’m afraid I must decline.”

“Why? You have an appointment you’re late for or something? A ladyfriend on the side, maybe?” Thor teases.

“Yes, because having sex with the King of Asgard and the God of Thunder just isn’t enough.” Loki snorts in good humor. “No, I simply have personal matters to attend to. Plots to ponder, wiles to wonder. Quality ‘me’ time. You understand, I’m sure.”

Thor sighs wistfully and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever understood you at all, Loki. You are a strange person and you worry me sometimes.”

“Only sometimes? Dear me. I must try harder.”

Thor laughs and pulls Loki to him, kissing the side of his head. “Go. Do what you must, you are not my thrall. Only promise me you’ll join us for dinner this evening.”

Loki looks distinctly pained.

“Oh, please, Loki. It’s been weeks.”

“Alright, fine. You know how much I love reconstituted Sakaarian meatballs.”

“A great deal less than throwing them at the Valkyrie.”

A smirk breaks out on Loki’s face and he comes quite close to laughing out loud. He bites his lip and shakes his head. “Oh, brother,” he murmurs.

Thor reaches out and helps Loki fasten the front of his shirt, his mirth cooling into something more serious. “They ask after you, you know. Our friends.”

“Your friends.”

“ _Our_ friends. And our people. Not a day goes by that your name isn’t brought to my attention by one of them.”

“Really? What are they saying about me?”

“They wonder where you are, why you aren’t with me. They enjoy seeing us together. I think it reminds them of better times. You know. The brothers, the princes. Reunited again and leading them after these last few years of uncertainty.” Thor tucks a strand of Loki’s hair behind his ear. “When they see the two of us side by side, it gives them hope. They see us getting along, working together and helping each other, and they are reassured. In many ways they are like our children—”

Loki raises his finger warningly. “No. Wrong. They are adults and they should be able to—”

“ _Some_ of them are children.”

“I don’t care. It’s not my job to ensure their satisfaction, nor is it yours. Your only duty is to rule them. You are their king, and that is what kings do. Rule people and maintain order.”

“Ah, Loki.” Thor shakes his head again, but he says no more. Loki was actually hoping he would. He waits for the inevitable “you still have much to learn” or “a throne would suit you ill” or all the other demeaning, belittling ways Thor has of reminding him how inferior he is, but it seems the weapons in that particular arsenal were depleted sometime in the last couple years. Instead of lecturing him, Thor lifts Loki’s hand to his lips and kisses it with a gentle brush of beard and soft, warm skin. He looks up at him with nothing but the deepest care and affection.

“Give them a chance. When you see how much they love you, you will find that love in your heart as well.”

* * *

Thor’s words are still echoing in his mind when Loki returns to his room. Not the large, nicely-furnished room on the same corridor as Thor’s, but the one nestled deep within the bowels of the ship and accessible only by a complex maze of service ladders. It isn’t ideal, but it’s private, and that’s what Loki prefers.

He’s a little dismayed that the illusion of bare wall he had placed in front of his door is gone, but what else should he expect when his powers are so erratic? It’s only an extra precaution after all, not really necessary. No one has any reason to venture into this part of the ship. He is safe here.

Loki twists open the hatch and steps into the mechanical storage room he has made his own. The lights automatically flicker on, illuminating walls crawling with pipes and electrical conduits like a growth of industrial ivy. The furniture is sparse and utilitarian; a huge spool of wire serves as a makeshift table, its single chair a crate of unopened medical supplies.

His personal effects are arranged neatly on shelves and tucked into compartments—the set of clothes he wore on Sakaar, a few spare shirts and underclothes, his favorite slippers, his stash of stolen liquor, tiny vials of oils and balms and fragrances, his grooming kit, a small amount of gems and gold currency should he need it, various packets of freeze-dried fruit, a small selection of ready-to-eat meals that don’t completely repulse him, and a couple of tightly-sealed boxes that may or may not contain stolen treasures of a glowing blue variety. One wall is devoted completely to defense: his golden helmet with the long, curving horns, a few pieces of armor, his collection of daggers, several throwing knives, a pair of shortswords, a beautiful set of darts made from poisonous and unbreakable green crystals, and all of it ready to be called to his hands at any moment, no matter his location.

When his magic is working, that is.

Loki removes his long green jerkin and hangs it from a nearby cargo hook, then selects a bottle of liquor from the shelf. He goes to the table and pours a draught of purple liquid into a small beaker, and takes a sip. He grimaces as soon as the alcohol touches his tongue, but he manages to swallow it down. He peers into the glass, half expecting to see a dead insect at the bottom. Nothing. Still wincing, he pours the contents back into the bottle and resets the stopper.

Strange for spirits to go bad like that. It had tasted fine last week.

He flexes his hands, studying them and turning them over. He tries to override the spell that gives him his usual appearance—a spell that is not his own doing, and so deeply rooted into his being that he must actually use magic to reveal his natural form—but only succeeds in turning his fingertips blue. They melt back to their pink hue and he scoffs, frustrated.

He’s probably going to wake up tomorrow to a bloody mess in his pants, and then all this aggravation will finally make sense. That’s usually how it goes. And he _has_ been tired lately. Moody, withdrawn. Even Thor seemed to pick up on that. Of course, Thor seems to be picking up on a lot of things these days.

Loki sits down on the box of medical supplies (ouch, _ouch,_ not so hard next time) and removes his boots—buffing out a scuff he notices—and sets them aside with more care and attention than he usually gives.

_They ask after you, you know. Our friends. And our people._

Thor, it seems, is dead-set on incorporating Loki into Asgard’s future. Loki’s not sure how he feels about that. Perhaps it’s time for him to abandon his unfettered, self-indulgent lifestyle and become a respectable, contributing member of society again, maybe putting to use all those skills his mother claimed he had. _You’re going to be a wonderful king someday, Loki._

_Maybe I’ll be a queen instead._

Loki’s face unconsciously twitches with displeasure.

Thor would probably find that arrangement very agreeable. The way he speaks of the future and Loki’s place in his court, it’s really only a matter of time before he…

Loki gives his head a brisk shake, as if the motion might actually sling the idea from his mind. He doesn’t want to think about these things now. He’s tired and sore and needs to hear something other than Thor’s rainbow-colored plans for Asgard’s future and the dull hum of the ship around him. He reaches out to the small golden box in the center of the table and, with a few clever swipes of his finger, opens the locked lid.

An animated hologram of the Grandmaster pops up, chirping its pre-programmed greeting. “ _Hello, friend! It’s your lucky day—I’m taking requests! What would you like to hear?_ ”

“Something I can fall asleep to,” says Loki bluntly.

“ _Organic or synthetic?_ ”

“No preference.”

“ _I’ve got just the thing._ ” A computerized female voice hums: “ _Queuing playlist ‘Lullify’. Enjoy._ ”

A quiet melody fills the room, and though the notes and chord progressions are alien to Loki’s ears, it is soothing nonetheless. The hologram shimmers and displays the song’s title in shifting hues of blue and purple.

The Grandmaster may be tyrannical, lecherous, and completely deranged, but this is one of the loveliest, most thoughtful gifts Loki has ever received from anyone, sanity notwithstanding. He’s not a huge fan of music—he made that abundantly clear each time the Grandmaster tried to cajole him into attending one of his dance parties—but this shiny Sakaarian entertainment box, filled with over 180,000 hours of music from all over the universe, is a well-meaning attempt to correct that.

“Open your mind, honey,” the Grandmaster had told him, pressing the unexpected present into Loki’s hands. “Don’t be afraid to try new things. Furthermore”—he had grinned and batted his blue-rimmed eyes—“don’t be afraid to _like_ new things.”

Loki smiles a little at the memory. What a bizarre person. He wonders if he’ll ever see him again.

Leaving the music box on the table, Loki stands up and goes over to the little enclosed safety shower tucked into one corner of the room. He takes off the rest of his clothes and folds them meticulously, setting them aside. He turns on the water with the tug of a chain and proceeds to wash away the sweat, semen and other bodily fluids from his skin. The water isn’t heated, but a bit of temporary coolness has never bothered Loki.

The music plays placidly on as he bathes, and by the time he shuts off the water and wraps himself in a bright, primary-colored towel, he wants nothing more than to fall into his bed and sleep for a few hours. He wrings his hair out one last time, runs his hand through it, then pads barefooted across the cold floor to a metal roll-up door. He bends down and lifts it open, revealing a tiny garage that lately housed an assortment of large batteries, tools, maintenance equipment, and other mechanical miscellanies for the ship’s inner workings. Now emptied of its contents, the stall is lined with several foam mattresses and an astounding number of blankets, pillows, pads, duvets, cushions, and all the soft, squishy things Loki could gather. This is his bed. A hidden, hollowed-out little nest where he spends his most vulnerable hours.

Loki crawls into the cozy, sweet-smelling space and begins to rearrange pillows and push covers around until he’s made himself comfortable. He throws off his towel and burrows into the blankets, folding his arms around himself and resting his head on a bright blue pillow.

He stares out into the room beyond with heavy-lidded eyes and fantasizes about his future, a place without cares or concerns or consequences, where he is beholden to no one and life coasts along according to his will. One song fades into another in a continuous stream of calming, gentle music.

He closes his eyes and slowly drifts off, warm and naked and content, insulated from the harsh world outside by many thick, soft, protective layers.

Very much like the tiny three-month-old life that is sleeping inside him.


End file.
